Елена Никитаева - Черное Золото
текст песни

Black gold, white gold.
Fingers squeeze newspaper strips -

to him to the west, and to me - in the other direction

Photos are melted and deserted,
The gods make bets on red,

We became a wounded flock

I'm going home, mom
The city is on, mom
Do not look at the sky
There is nothing there

I will tell you everything in order, and
how they burned my serial number

how mint grass warmed throat with fire

I'm going home, mom
The city is on, mom,
Do not look at the sky
There is nothing there

Blood is positive, the connection is negative,
The lips are dry, the eyes are insightful -

If we are alive, then we are tied

Where is my house, mom?
The city was burned, mom,
Do not look at the sky
Nothing there ...